We've both been busy in the kitchen today. My husband, measuring out herbs for the production of a jar of pizza spices and herbs. It's a little heavy on the hot peppers. He brought it over to me for a sniff-test and my involuntary catch of breath told him all he needed to know about the formula. We both like a little bit of heat on/in the pizza and this will surely deliver. On the other hand, I'd do well to approach its application with some caution.

He had been out shopping on his own, something he does regularly, and one of his favourite places is the bulk food store where he picks up all manner of herbs, spices and nuts and seeds for our kitchen. Before he left I asked what kind of cookies he'd like, and he responded that he'd like, instead of the sugar cookies he usually asks for, some crisp ginger snaps. So ginger snaps it was, their delectable fragrance wafting through the house when he returned. I cross-hatched them with the potato masher I've had in my kitchen for the last 60 years, a set of kitchen utensils that we bought when we first married, to help make me a more efficient cook. Some pieces of the set have seen more use than other parts, but made of stainless steel, they have weathered continual use and time better than we have.

Jack and Jill think that any time we're busy in the kitchen they should be included in whatever is happening; so they tend to hang about, keenly watching what we're doing. And should a shred of something quasi-edible fall to the floor they're swift to leap to the taste-test. Anything seems to taste good to them, the quirky little imps.

Now that they've discovered the allure of the afternoon sun blasting its light and warmth through the sliding glass doors in the breakfast room, it's where they can be found at that time of day, taking a rest from romping recklessly through the house at breakneck speed, somehow managing not to break their delicate little legs in the process as they slam into objects then careen off into other directions; here, there, everywhere. The languid pacification of the sun shining directly on one of their little beds gives them a break, and us as well.